Key Verse: “Walk with the wise and become wise;
associate with fools and get in trouble.” (v.20, NLT)
Big Idea: The path you choose—and the people you walk it with—determine your future.
My shoes squeaked on the café tile as I slid into the booth. Gideon was already there, elbows on the table, hoodie pulled tight, jaw set like he was bracing for impact. He’d been with us the last few days—skeptical, sharp, defensive—but he kept showing up. That felt like something.
Solomon arrived with the usual quiet gravity—he smelled faintly of cedar. He tapped the table once, a habit, then smiled at Gideon as if he’d known him a long time.
“Today,” Solomon said, sliding his weathered leather notebook between us, “I’m continuing something I started before—how desire, discipline, and direction braid together.” He opened to a page of rough sketches: two paths, one crowded, one narrow. “In this passage, I talk about longing fulfilled and appetites that never learn. I contrast hunger with satisfaction, correction with neglect, good company with bad.”
He gave us the gist first—how Proverbs 13:19–25 lays out a life that learns versus one that resists learning; how good counsel feeds the soul while stubbornness starves it; how choices compound. The rain outside slowed, like the world was listening.
Then he leaned in. “Here’s the focus.” He quoted it clean, from memory. “Walk with the wise and become wise; associate with fools and get in trouble.”
Gideon scoffed softly. “That feels… elitist. Like, cut people off if they don’t measure up.”
Solomon didn’t flinch. He smiled gently, the kind that carries scars. “I didn’t say abandon people,” he said. “I said walk. Paths shape feet. Feet shape destinations.” He tapped the notebook. “When I wrote this, I was thinking about how drifting works. No one has to plan to fall. You just stop paying attention, stop resisting—and suddenly you’re lower than you meant to be.”
A barista dropped off our drinks. The steam curled up and vanished. For a second, the café noise dimmed.
“I learned this the hard way,” Solomon said, eyes distant. “I surrounded myself with voices that stroked my appetite. They laughed at restraint. I called it freedom. It was drift. I didn’t wake up wanting to ruin my life—I just kept walking with people who normalized small compromises. Character doesn’t collapse. It erodes.”
Gideon shifted. “So what—dump my friends?”
“Name the influence,” Solomon replied. “Psalm One, written by Solomon’s father, says the blessed life doesn’t take counsel from scoffers. In his letter to Corinth, Paul the Apostle warned, ‘Bad company corrupts good character.’ That’s not judgment—it’s physics.” He drew arrows between the paths. “Wisdom is contagious. So is foolishness. So is sin. So is corruption.”
I felt the sting. Faces came to mind—group chats that spiraled, jokes that trained my heart toward cynicism. “What if the wise people are boring?” I asked.
Solomon chuckled. “Boring to your impulses, maybe. Nourishing to your future.” He pointed to another verse from the passage. “In this section, I mention how the godly eat to their heart’s content while the wicked are always hungry. Companions shape appetites. They teach you what to crave.”
Gideon exhaled, some fight leaving his shoulders. “Okay. But what if I’m the problem? What if I’m the fool?”
Solomon’s eyes softened. “To even ask that question means you’re already exercising wisdom.” He glanced past us to a couple arguing near the door, voices tight. “Correction feels like hunger at first. But it feeds you.” He turned back. “The Lord—your Creator—designed growth to happen in community. Hebrews says we need daily encouragement so our hearts don’t harden. Steel sharpens steel. Not sand.”
The arguing couple left. The absence felt loud.
Gideon stared into his cup. “There’s this crew I run with,” he said. “They don’t mean harm. But every time I leave, I’m more angry. More numb.” He looked up. “I thought that was just life.”
“It’s a signal,” Solomon said. “Your soul keeps receipts.”
The rain stopped. Light slid across the table. Solomon summarized, calm and clear: “Choose paths intentionally. Choose companions wisely. Hunger for what satisfies. Welcome correction—it’s a gift. Walk long enough with wisdom, and it becomes your gait.”
Gideon nodded, slow. “I think I know one person I need to walk with more,” he said. “And one group I need to step back from.”
As we stood to leave, Solomon closed his notebook. “Walk,” he said again, smiling. “Don’t sprint. Just walk.”
I stepped outside lighter, aware of my feet on the pavement—and who I’d be walking beside.
What? Your companions quietly shape your desires, habits, and outcomes; wisdom grows through proximity.
So What? You don’t drift into a good life—you walk into it, one relationship at a time.
Now What? This week, intentionally schedule time with one wise, life-giving person—and limit time with one influence that consistently pulls you off course.
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